Lessons From An Earworm

Have you ever opened your eyes in the morning having a song instantly filling your mind? Have you carried a song around all day after someone mentioned the title or lyric? Have you ever had it go on and on and on for days? According to Wikipedia, this phenomenon is referred to as “sticky music” or “stuck song syndrome.

Whatever you want to call it, I have experienced this, and I am definitely feeling like it’s stuck!

I can’t find the exact commercial that is guilty of planting this phrase in my brain. I don’t remember that part. I just did a youtube search with the sticky phrase and came up with a recording by The Faces and then again by Rod Stewart. I didn’t remember any of the other words, just the one line/phrase from the chorus. I don’t remember listening to it in my youth. I didn’t know the title at all. If you had talked about the song and its title without mentioning my stuck phrase, I wouldn’t have known what you were talking about. (I remember Rod Stewart, but not The Faces.)

Have you guessed the phrase yet? Here it is: “I wish that I knew what I know now when I was younger.” If you want to hear the whole song you can search the phrase, or the title, “Ooh La La.”

Here’s the thing: it’s stuck in my brain, on a loop that rarely goes away. So when I woke up this morning to this phrase—which by the way I then have to sing in my head several times to get the phrase rhythmically exact, not sure why by now it doesn’t just appear correctly—I decided to reflect on it in writing here. Not sure where this is going to come out, since I’m doing some live sorting, reflecting, and recording. Here goes…

I have friends and acquaintances who say they live with no regrets. I sometimes think I must be living in a different world than them, or just done more awful and hurtful stuff because I have many regrets. I recently participated in a cool poem creating thing that was the accumulation of the things people would tell their younger self if they got the chance. It made me think of the things I would tell myself “when I was younger.”

I wonder what the people I know, who say they have no regrets, would do with my brain-phrase. When I’ve asked how it can be that they have no regrets, they respond by telling me that everything they’ve done has made them who they are. They like who they are. They learned from all their experiences and wouldn’t change anything.

Really? (Imagine me shaking my head once again in disbelief.)

I kinda sorta get that who I am today is the product of my decisions/choices in the past. Yes, I’m in a pretty good place, and I know that to “go back” and change any ONE thing would mean NOW would or could be quite different.

Here’s another thought that occurred to me on one of the days when I couldn’t shake this perpetual earworm. Could our younger self handle this mature knowledge and perspective we’ve acquired? Would they listen to us any better than their parents, teacher, or mentors when they attempt to speak wisdom into their young lives?

Having deep sorrow for my wrong and hurtful choices makes me a more sensitive and kinder me now. There is no way to go back and undo what has been done. And I’m somewhat familiar with who I was, and I seriously doubt I would have listened. I would have justified or rationalized my choices. So perhaps I should spend my time becoming the best me, the me who I want to live with for whatever time I have left.

Whenever that sticky phrase crowds back into my head, I’m going to sing it like this: I wish I lived what I have learned, it makes me much better.

Yep, that works and I’ve got that rhythm down pat.

Remembering

(A reflection written in 2009…edited today…)

Remembering. In the movie “The Sound of Music”, when Julie Andrews’ character is comforting the children in the middle of a horrific thunderstorm, she sings a song. Don’t they always when it’s a musical? The song that is to bring them comfort is a recounting of all her “favorite things.” Maybe you remember a few: raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens; bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens. She simply remembers her favorite things, and then she won’t feel so bad.

Remembering. It’s a biblical principle. Back in the Old Testament God’s people are told to make a pile of rocks and the children are to ask what they are there for. Then the adults are to tell the story of God’s protection and provision. This way the story would not be lost from generation to generation.

I read an article this week that made a very bold claim—or at least I thought it was bold. The author said that we forget because we anticipate that we are going to forget. And if I could remember what magazine it was in, I would put down the whole quote. In essence: we forget because we don’t remember.

Perhaps that’s why there are so many references to remembering in the Bible, two hundred thirty three according to biblegateway.com.

Memory is a fickle thing. In my work with my little lady who has Alzheimer’s, I marvel at how she isn’t able to remember our immediate conversation but she can recount wonderful stories from her youth. She can tell you her recipe for homemade bread, but as she makes it she can’t recall if she put in the yeast.

One day she had been in her room for an unusually long time so I quietly peeked in the door to check on her. She was sitting on her bed by the bedside stand with her Bible open on her lap, her fingers running over the page as she read and reread Psalms. It reminded me of a time when I visited a woman in the hospital who was very close to death. Her lips were moving, but no sound was coming out. I leaned in close and heard her softly whispering, repeating the Lord’s Prayer. She was no longer conscious in this world, but her spirit was totally in touch.

Have you watched the news lately? It’s not for the faint of heart. There isn’t much “good” news being report. So we need to remember. What has God done for you, now or in the past? Where have and do you see his hand? Life is going to get harder and unless we become more intentional in our remembering, it will be very easy to forget.

Oh, and that article, it was in the January issue of Prevention, page 48.

Look, look! A brand new book!!

Hey everybody!! Here’s the cover of my soon to be released devotional. In a couple days it’ll be available on Kindle. Paperback will be ready to purchase later in the week. I’ll keep you. posted Please help me spread the word. Thanks!!

Remembering God’s Mercy

Like a horse in the desert, they did not stumble. Like cattle that go down into the valley, the spirit of the Lord gave them rest. Thus you led your people to make for yourself a glorious name (Isaiah 63:13b-14, NRSV).

What a beautiful image. Sadly they are only part of the picture. These verses are preceded by a description of the negative consequences of choosing not to follow God. This choice is also found earlier in the book of Isaiah, where the prophet speaks of how God offered the people rest but they refused it.

Thinking on that this morning I was brought to tears as I considered the struggles people I love are going through because they refuse the rest, the shalom that God offers.

Recently, I had someone tell me they couldn’t talk to me because of my religion. They were sure that I judged them, and it angered them so that they would rather not have a relationship with me…they felt they could not.

To say my heart was broken would barely come close to the pain I felt.

In both a teaching and preaching setting I’ve had the opportunity to study the word “religion” and its affects on people: both those who claim to have it and those who don’t want anything to do with it. On the one hand people who claim a faithful lifestyle, often get caught up in the rules and the appearances, lacking the ability to walk the talk with integrity. They often come across as modern day pharisees with their hypocrisy hanging out all over the place.

The unfortunate thing as I see it, is we have moved so far from the root meaning of the word “religion.” If we turn to the Latin base for our word (re-ligare) we find that it refers to re-attaching, holding out the imaging of reconnecting that which has been pulled apart. By inference then, our religion should ooze integrity: the complete integration of what we believe and how we express it.

There’s another place in scripture that speaks of rest, rest by quiet streams in meadows green–a place of peace and provision: God, the good shepherd, makes me lie down in green pastures; leads me beside still waters; restores my soul. God leads me in right paths for his name’s sake (Psalm 23:2-3).

My prayer today, for you and me, would be that we not turn away from the rest God offers; that we would not settle for a disconnected life filled with things that rob us of peace and integrity; that we would chose to be led by God–the one who knows us best and loves us most, whose promise and provision puts the pieces back together and completes and restores us. Amen.

Portion and Cup

Psalm 16:5:

You have assigned me my portion and my cup. You have made my lot secure. (TNIV)
Lord, you alone are my inheritance, my cup of blessing. You guard all that is mine. (NLT)
My choice, is you, God, first and only and now I find I’m your choice. (The Message)

The other day my husband went to the freezer to take out some meat to thaw for dinner and he found that the door had not been shut properly and a box of popsicles had melted, spilling sticky goop onto each shelf and down the inside of the door. We both instantly knew who the culprit was that hadn’t shut the door: the grandson. In an effort to expand our trust, we have allowed him to get his own small snacks and with the recent heat, popsicles have become his favorites. Even with constant reminders, sometimes the door just doesn’t get shut tight.

Perhaps that is why when I was a kid we were never allowed to get our own treats. What we were allowed was doled out to us. Later, when we were responsible enough to close the door, we were allowed to get our own treats, but the amount and the variety was carefully controlled and monitored by our mother. Portions were rigidly adhered to: three cookies after meals; two donuts with breakfast; one small bowl of chips; or only one bowl of cereal for breakfast. The only between meal drink was water. And the clear understanding was ‘don’t ask for any more.’ I knew when I opened my sack at lunch at school that there would be a small bag of chips, a sandwich, and three cookies.

Some might have found comfort in the consistency with which we were fed. All I ever saw was what seemed like a banquet for my friends. I rebelled against this rigidity in private, eating other’s castoffs and sneaking food whenever I was able. I never interpreted the limits as love or wisdom, only as punitive, withholding and depriving. Others had more, why couldn’t I? This lack of understanding produced a distortion that unfortunately infiltrated so many areas of my life, from food to relationships to my spirituality.

At some point in my walk with the Lord, I came across Psalm 16, and found I needed to camp out on verse 5. The more I stayed there, the more I revisited and let the words penetrate deep into my heart, the more I was able to let go of the distortions that had led me into a bulimic form of existence(binging and purging, gorging and repenting). No matter what had happened when I was a child, it was and is God who assigns my portion and cup. He who created me knows what I need and he gives me exactly what I need to accomplish his purpose in my life.

As I pondered my portion for today, I was reminded of Jesus’ teaching to the disciples in what we now call The Lord’s Prayer: give us this day our daily bread. How many of my problems would cease to be problems if I would just focus on my portion and cup today? What would happen if we would acknowledge before God that we seek no more or less than what he has for us this day?

What do you need today? What do I need today? If this verse from David and Jesus’ subsequent teaching mean anything, then it isn’t up to me to decide. We typically spend a lot of time telling God what we need, and reminding him what others need as well. How would our prayers and life change if instead we prayed: “Show me what I really need so that I can be effective in all I do?”

Just as my mother knew that I didn’t need more that three cookies, God knows what this day holds and just what I will need to meet it. So I can trust and I will find that my lot is truly secure.

Monday Mindset: Generosity

I am challenged today to think about my giving.  I have at least two friends I am aware of who have donated one of their kidneys to a family member. One gave his to his wife’s aunt.  Talk about generosity!

Today I probably won’t be donating a kidney to anyone, unless I’m dead, and then everything gets donated.  So what can or will I give?  I can give a hug to the woman who just lost her husband.  I can share a smile with the cashier who just doesn’t think anyone really notices her.  I can send a card to that shut-in who feels all alone.  I can respond to the list of needs for a family that just lost everything in a fire.

Giving can cost all or nothing at all.  As I considered this concept of generosity, I was reminded of the Macedonian church. They gave to an offering Paul was gathering for the needy.  Even though they were experiencing severe trial, they gave beyond their ability to give.  You can find this story in 2 Corinthians 9.  In verse 8 their call to giving is described this way:  “test the sincerity of your love by comparing it with the earnestness of others.”  I had never noticed that before! So often we’re counseled away from comparing ourselves to others. But that’s Paul’s instruction to the Corinthians. It reminds me of the Old Testament challenge to try and out give God (see Malachi 3:10ff). 

I am humbled today by the generosity of my friends.  And I’m challenged.  I don’t want to be found short when it comes to being generous.  I want to be earnest and sincere.   How about you?

Hopefully Devoted: Rhythm

(A repost of a former thought…relevant for me today)

Rhythm.  I never spell that word right.  Perhaps if I were a heart specialist spending my days examining and checking rhythms,  or a professor of music, pounding out rhythms to students, I would find the word more natural to use and spell.  As hard, though, as it is to wrap my brain around spelling it, it’s even harder for me to wrap my spirit around it.

As I reflected upon rhythm, I was reminded of the movie, “Kate and Leopold.”  In the movie a man from the past is transported to modern day.  His presence changes the life of a marketing executive who is all push and drive.  Late in the movie, when Kate finally believes who Leo is, she asks him what he misses from his time.  He tells her he misses the pace and rhythm of life.

When Jesus looked out on the crowd, he was moved with compassion.  He saw how horribly out of sync they were with the Father and he told them: “Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.” (Matthew 11:28-30, The Message)

I’m a pairs junkie.  I love to watch great partners dance.  I am easily sucked into watching pairs figure skating.  I don’t think they televise nearly enough pairs/doubles tennis.  I love to see how two become one.  It’s as if they transcend anticipating the other’s moves and begin to beat as one.  I think that’s what Jesus was inviting the people, inviting us, to do. 

Last night when I got home from work, I was spent.  I had put in three twelve hour days in a row.  I wanted to crash, but my three year old grandson was here.  I love him.  He is the funnest thing on earth.  His favorite thing to do is chase.  We run through the house like race cars.  Last night he was lapping me because I just didn’t have the energy to keep up.  After his mommy picked him, I sat down to type this devotional.  I had written most of it earlier in the day.  I had felt good about being ahead.  When I went to save what I had typed, I hit no.  And just that quickly, it was all gone.  I sat in my chair, staring at the blank computer screen in disbelief.  I was so tired that I erased everything.  That’s physical weariness.

We can become just as weary spiritually by keeping a pace that we were not designed for. Think about it.  Back in the Garden, what did God and Adam do?  They weren’t practicing for a marathon.  They walked together.  Enoch walked with God, and was no more.  Jesus walked with the two on the Emmaus Road.  It seems that God’s pace is very different from our own.  And when we might expect God to walk, he ran.  He ran out to meet the wayward Prodigal Son and welcome him home.

Unforced rhythms of grace.  I love that phrase.  As I think about it, I am aware of the rhythmic ticking of the grandfather clock across the room.  Its beat is so natural and reassuring.  It’s very unlike the beat at work.  To keep people working out at a healthy clip, the music at Curves has to be within a specific beat—fast.  Some of the remakes of songs make me laugh, because those songs were never intended to be sung as fast as our beat requires.  Think about “O Holy Night” or “Word of God Speak” at 180 beats per minute.  Ludicrous.  Ridiculous.  Unnatural.

So is much of our living.  The problem is this: sometimes we are called to a fast paced life.  The demands require much of us.  I would never presume to say we need to return to the pace of the Amish (though recently, the thought held some intrigue for me).  I would, however, suggest that we need to check ourselves.  Can we honestly say with Paul, “’For in him we live and move and have our being (Acts 17:28, NIV)”?  That’s what Jesus was inviting us to.  When we live life at our pace, we are out of sync with the Creator of life, and we will always feel out of step. 

If we are tired of being tired, perhaps the solution is to find those unforced rhythms of grace and learn how they will work in our lives.

Rhythm Postscript and A Random Thought

Rhythm Postscript: After posting a devotional on rhythm, I should have anticipated facing challenges to my rhythm.  But I didn’t.  Somehow as I was preparing for work , I found myself behind schedule.  I hadn’t eaten breakfast.  I had my tea, but I knew I’d need more than just a banana.  I decided to grab an egg biscuit at Burger King.  It’s on the way, there’s usually no one in line, and it’s under a buck.

I pulled into BK and there were two vehicles in front of me.  Sigh.  This is going to put me way behind.  The first vehicle is a van.  I can see the driver in his side view mirror.  He’s arguing with someone on a cell phone and tying to place an order at the same time.  While he’s doing that I catch a glimpse of the woman in the car in front of me.  She’s using her side mirror to help her put on her mascara.  The two cars behind me probably wondered about the crazy lady laughing hysterically in the blue Jeep Liberty.  

I read this quote from Thoreau this week: If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music which he hears, however measured or far away.

What beat are you hearing?  The Father is hoping you’re keeping pace!

And one more thought:  Part of the trouble I have with spelling RHYTHM is that I want to spell it RHYTHYM…It’s never good to have too many Why’s….

Monday Mindset: Misfit, Don’t Fit, Unfit?

Right now…I’m not feeling like “anything.”

When I was an angsty teenager, I was encouraged by the most influencial adult in my life to never give up. I absolutely tattooed that on my heart and mind. I was never going to be a quitter!

The problem was I never felt like I fit in. I related far more to the toys on Misfit Island.

No matter how hard I tried, I wasn’t very good at much. Just sort of mediocre. I watched my peers and my family apply themselves and succeed. Just like my experience with the Miss Teenage Columbus Pageant: I never won…but congratulations, you’re fourth runner up.

Most of the time I was able to paste on a smile, and pretend that it was ok. It wasn’t the losing I minded as much as I just wanted to know why I didn’t feel like I succeeded.

I decided to do a little research. My SEO question was: can an ESFP be a writer? ESFP is my Myers Briggs Personality Type: Extroverted, Sensing, Feeling, and Perceiving. I found a blog and an excellent post that helped me move from under-the-basement-discouragement to serandipitous joy! (So I feel more like the little guy in the next picture.

Bottom line: I needed to be reminded that I don’t have to try and squeeze into someone else’s box or expectation or definition.

I am a communicator. Sometimes I write, but I also speak. I get to the message, but I don’t have to take the same route as others do. I wouldn’t require someone else to meander down my oft times disjointed and crazy path…so I need to be aware of trying to fit into someone else’s box.

Golly, I feel so free right now. That should be our mindset, too. Figure out how we best achieve our goals and go for them. Others may be able to discipline themselves into success, but you’ll probably find me skipping down the road to mine. I won’t get there fast…but that’s okay by me.

Hopefully Devoted: Starts and Finishes

I’m a good starter.  I attribute that to the gift I believe God gave me: I see possibilities.  My MBTI personality profile supports this theory.  I walk into a room or a work space and immediately start thinking of ways to improve the process.  I thrive in work situations where I can think of new ways to do the job.  Working this way plays to my strength of starting, but reveals all too quickly my boredom with following through.

While this can be a strength at work, my “gift” has a tendency to make my husband moan and roll his eyes at home.  Every now and then I’ll get a creative bug in my bonnet and I’ll start some project.  Currently, it’s a cross-stitch I started a few months ago for my brother’s birthday next month. Yes, I am aware how quickly I’m running out of time. I carry it with me everywhere I go just in case  I have a few spare minutes to work toward completion.  It’s almost done.  I just need to bring myself to complete it.

Most of us are good at starting things.  How many books have we started but never finished?  How many have started college but never completed the degree?  How many craft projects sit in bins waiting to be finished?  How many diets have we started and given up on?

In his letter to Timothy, Paul declares, “I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race.”  I believe Paul’s message holds the key to why we tend to give up and not finish what we start.  It’s all in the word FIGHT.  As soon as the going gets tough, we’re done.  This applies to classes, diets, jobs, and relationships.  When what we’re doing starts to feel like work, we walk away. When the newness wears off, we lose interest.

I have a friend who has always been an inspiration to me, but I’m not sure she knows how much.  She’s a doctor, professor, wife, mother, friend, and sister.  Oh, and she’s also a quilter.  She crafts the most beautiful quilts.  If you’ve ever tried your hand at quilting you know how exacting and exhausting it can be.  Her life has been spent on others, in work and “recreation.”  There just doesn’t seem to be any quit in her.

As I think through my friends, there are many people who are inspirational.  They face down illness, their own and the illnesses of loved ones.  They open their homes to troubled children.  They pour out their lives in thankless jobs.  They stand by discouraged mates and face down their own fears.  The list could go on and on.  

I love a quote that is attributed to Emily Dickinson: “I dwell in possibilities.”  I can relate.  But I also want to finish.  I want to finish craft projects.  I want to finish jobs.  I want to go the distance in my relationships.  Most of all, I want to finish the race of faith.

So, excuse me while I step away from the computer and pick up my needle.  Maybe I can get this cross-stitch done before my brother’s next birthday.

Monday Mindset: Laugh

(I can barely type…I’m still laughing at myself)

I got up this morning around 6am. I like being up before everyone and getting ready while it’s still dark and quiet. I give the dogs their morning dental stick and head to the bathroom.

For me, this was a “dropsy” morning. I can’t seem to get a grip on anything. I’m dropping everything. Knocking things over. Spilling. And I’m not going to go into how awful my hair turned out.

I pressed on. Unamused and on the verge of frustration.

Then it was time to feed the dogs. Two of them get a cup of dry crunchy food with a packet of Moist and Meaty yumminess on top. I turned to fill the third dog’s bowl and kicked the water bucket as I was reaching for her healthy Moist and Meaty alternative for senior dogs.

As the water splashed I said, “Will you stop being such a Monday morning!” As I finished the request, I started to tear open Bella’s packet of less than yummy food. Instead of falling neatly into the bowl it exploded sending little cubes of food all over the kitchen floor.

As I knelt down to retrieve the food, my husband came to the door to question what he thought he heard me just say. He found me on the floor laughing uncontrollably. Bella walked over, too. Gave me a quick look and proceeded to clean up my mess. I thanked her for her help.

Monday mornings do not have sole rights to interruptions and bad starts. Any day can start out deviating from plan. Or it might go haywire in the middle. Or just before bed when we’re completely spent. Interruptions, devestation, and plan destruction do not care about our calendars. They do not ask permission for deviation.

There are lots of ways to handle this. Having a plan B (through Z) is wise. But for me, the best solution is laughter.

When we had foster kids, one of the hardest lessons for them to learn was to laugh at themselves. They would either melt down and shut down, or come out swinging at anyone or anything in front of them when things didn’t go the way they wanted. I always invited them to consider laughter. Some of them did and found it better way to cope, while others couldn’t ever seem to move beyond crisis mode.

I know not everything can be laughed at. There are things that occur that require serious means of management. But when you can…laugh. Monday morning will keep on being Monday morning whether we like it or not. And sometimes the dog food will end up all over the floor. How will you handle it? I’m going to laugh!

I’ll get a grip later.